


Redemption

by Richefic



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Because a house that big can't burn down without someone noticing., Comte Athos, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Tag to S1 e3 Commodities, d'Artagnan steps up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Richefic/pseuds/Richefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When d'Artagnan returns to le Fere to check on Athos what he finds is nothing like he expected. But if he ever hopes to become a Musketeer he imagines he had better learn to deal with the unexpected.</p><p>Besides, this is Athos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this over at FF.net in a mad fever at discovering a brand new sandbox to write in after quite a dry spell. This is a slightly more reflective tweaking of that story.
> 
> Deliberately trying to add more description to my writing. Why is that so hard?

Despite the sharp chill that lingered in the air and the way he could see his own breath form in little white clouds in front of him as he walked, d'Artagnan whistled happily as he made his way from his lodging at the Bonacieux's towards the Musketeer's Garrison. He had finally come to accept that, despite a few admonishing words from Treville about his somewhat rash behavior, he had acquitted himself well in his recent endeavors with Vadim and his bond with the three seasoned Musketeers had only grown the stronger for it. The truth of that was proven when he had barely set foot inside the courtyard when a now familiar voice greeted him warmly.

"D'Artagnan, good morning to you, would you care for some breakfast?" Aramis invited.

The Gascon cast a swift glance around around the courtyard, forcibly swallowing down his sharp disappointment at not seeing the man he sought, before managing a genuine smile as he made his way towards the table where Aramis was picking over a plate of bread and cheese. Porthos, swiftly appeared at his shoulder, bearing a bowl heaped with enough stew to feed two normal men.

"No, thank you, I ate earlier," D'Artagnan refused politely. Then he hesitated, not quite sure what he was supposed to with himself. "Um, I was supposed to spar with Athos. Is he here?"

"He's upstairs with Treville," Porthos advised him, as he sat down, helped himself to a glass of wine and set a second glass in front of d'Artagnan, in a gesture of inclusion that warmed the young man's heart. "Sit yourself down. He'll not be long. And he won't have forgotten about you." He added kindly.

D'Artagnan hoped his blush wasn't too obvious against his tanned skin. Athos was without doubt the most accomplished swordsman he had ever encountered. Secretly he had also been somewhat awed by unquestioning devotion Aramis and Porthos had shown towards their friend. Also, that the man Captain Treville called "the best soldier in the regiment" had voiced his intention to take him under his wing had warmed d'Artagnan right down to his toes. It was hard to disguise the fact that the Musketeer not being here as arranged had left him a little bereft.

"Something's afoot," Aramis agreed. "They've been up there some time." 

The three men raised a companionable glass as they waited. Eventually Athos came down the stairs, with Captain Treville following close on his heels.

"D'Artagnan." Treville tipped his head on one side. "Here again?"

"Ah," d'Artagnan looked slightly awkward before rising to his feet. He had been here rather frequently of late. "I was just leaving?"

Treville did not answer directly. Looking around at his men, he met Athos' eyes for a long moment as some unspoken conversation passed between them. Then he turned and began to make his way up the stairs. "You have your orders, gentlemen."

"We do?" Aramis looked to Athos.

"We are to journey to Le Harve and apprehend the merchant Bonnaire so he can answer for his crimes against France before the King," Athos informed them. "See that the horses are made ready and we'll need supplies for four days or so. D'Artagnan, my apologies our training will have to wait upon our return."

"He could come with us," Aramis suggested. "There is always the chance of an ambush on the road. An extra pair of eyes would be helpful."

"Knowing him, he'll probably be safer coming along," Porthos grinned. "Imagine the trouble he could cause left to his own devices in Paris."

"That is true." Aramis agreed.

"Treville would never approve it, not for the King's business," Athos knew.

"The road to Le Harve can be quite busy at this time of year," Porthos had a glint in his eye. "You never know who you might happen upon along the way."

"Have you ever been to the sea?" Aramis looked pointedly at d'Artagnan. "I hear the air there is very bracing."

"A trip to the coast might be just what I need," d'Artagnan caught on. "Something to keep me occupied whilst you gentlemen are otherwise engaged on the King's business. I confess I have never been to Le Harve."

"Athos?" Aramis raised a brow.

Athos kept his expression impassive in the face of three hopeful expressions. He knew that friends would not pursue this enterprise without his full agreement. The boy had impressed them all with his courage and quick thinking, But he was also rather too likely to rush into things and lacked the breadth of skills of a seasoned soldier. Allowance would need to be made for that and Treville would vent his fury on all four of them if it hampered the mission. Yet truth be told he would also much rather have the young man close at hand.

Stepping right up to d'Artagnan he noted with approval the way the Gascon endured his scrutiny without flinching as his dark eyes raked over him. The hopeful grin, however, was pure d'Artagnan.

"You will follow my orders?"

"To the letter," d'Artagnan nodded seriously. "You have my word."

"Very well," Athos clapped him on the shoulder. "Go and get packed we leave in in under an hour."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Truth be told d'Artagnan's promise to obey orders was not in the forefront of either of their minds as they sat and watched Athos' mansion burn. Athos was still somewhat the worst for drink and the effects of having almost had his throat slit and then nearly burnt alive by the wife he had supposed long dead at his hand. D'Artagnan was far more concerned with the fact that he had apparently just saved Athos' life and trying to understand what on earth had happened to feel any guilt over his decision to return.

"Five years learning how to live in a world without her. What do I do now?"

D'Artagnan was saved from having to answer that by the sound of hoof beats echoing across the ground behind him. Aware of just how dis-orientated Athos presently was, d'Artagnan drew his blade and hovered protectively over his friend as the horses approached.

"Stand and state your business!" He demanded.

"I am Jean de Valcourt," One of the men dismounted and stepped forward, his hands held up in supplication and his brow furrowed with concern. "Valet to the Comte. We saw the flames on the horizon and feared the worst."

"Fear not, Valcourt," Finding a strength, d'Artagnan was not sure he would have possessed in such circumstances, Athos somehow rose to his feet and greeted his former manservant. "Only the house is lost."

"My Lord, it is your family home, as it has been for generations," Valcourt looked stricken. "Can we not save it?"

"It is but bricks and mortar, Valcourt," Athos dismissed the idea. "Anything that was worthy in it is long since gone to dust. There is no reason to risk the lives of good men. The flames will burn themselves out in their own time. Go home and see to your wife and children. I'm not your Lord anymore."

"Begging your pardon, my Lord," Valcourt shook his head. "But every family here still relies on the stipend you pay us to tend the lands. And I have not forgotten how you settled the bill with the doctor when my eldest boy was ailing, nor your many other kindnesses. You are still our Lord in every way that matters and we will always stand ready to serve on your account."

"They want to help," d'Artagnan murmured softly. "Let them."

Athos cast him a dark look, but nonetheless d'Artagnan could not help but feel a spark of pride as the Musketeer seemed to heed his counsel. With a soft sigh he squared his shoulders and assumed the mantle of nobility.

"As you wish, set a fire in the lodge. We will need food and wine. And hot water to scrub the smell of smoke from us."

"The lodge, my Lord?" Valcourt frowned. "Surely the Gatehouse or even the Coach house would be more suitable?"

"Those dwellings are occupied with families Valcourt. We must return to Paris at first light. No sense in putting anyone out into the cold night for the sake of a few hours. Besides, I have been a soldier these last five years, I have slept in far worse places." Athos allowed tonelessly.

"As you wish, my Lord," Valcourt bowed deeply.

D'Artagnan moved a little closer to Athos' side as the villagers rode away. From this distance he could see that Athos was holding himself upright by willpower alone. His skin was deathly pale and his hands shook as he fumbled with the water skin. As soon as the villagers were out of sight his knees buckled and he would have fallen but for d'Artagnan's hand firmly gripping his elbow.

"The horses are just over here," He encouraged. "Can you walk?"

"Walk and ride." Athos declared, scrubbing a hand over his face as if to scour away his memories. "The lodge is not far."

"Good," d'Artagnan offered him a smile. "Because I'm not at all sure I could carry you."

True to his word, Athos began putting carefully one foot on front of the other, although he had to lean heavily on d'Artagnan as the adrenalin which had fueled their flight from the flames began to ebb. Harsh bouts of coughing from the smoke deep in his lungs further impeded their progress, as Athos became almost doubled over in his efforts to catch his breath. By the time they eventually reached the horses, d'Artagnan almost wished he had asked Valcourt to stay. His back and shoulder were aching with the effort of keeping his friend upright.

"Sit just a moment, whilst I saddle your mount," d'Artagnan lowered Athos carefully to the ground and passed him the water bottle from the other man's saddle bags before setting to in tacking up Athos' dark beast, knowing from experience to keep out of the range of its sharp teeth as he cinched up its girth. "Try and drink as much as you can. It will ease your throat."

"Are you giving me orders now?" Athos asked a little sharply, courtesy of the wine still coursing through his veins.

"If it helps you are welcome to think of them as suggestions," d'Artagnan responded mildly. "I'm just trying to help."

"You have courage," Athos observed, still rather drunk and not a little emotional, even as he did as d'Artagnan had "suggested" and drank deeply from the water skin, wiping his mouth afterwards. "And a good heart, you remind me so much of Thomas."

D'Artagnan froze in the action of tightening Athos' girth and bowed his head. The simple words, so heartfelt in their sentiment brought a lump to his throat and his eyes stung with more than the effects of the smoke. Even if, as seemed more than likely, Athos would not remember this conversation in the morning, d'Artagnan knew at once that the comparison to Athos' beloved younger brother was a sentiment that he would spend the rest of his life striving to live up to.

"D'Artagnan?" Behind him Athos' tone was suddenly sharp with worry. "Are you alright?"

The Gascon turned to see the Musketeer was sitting up a little straighter and eyeing him with concern. For the second time that evening d'Artagnan marveled at the way Athos could simply push aside his own pain when he was called upon to be strong for others. Looking back at the still burning building he realized for the first time exactly what it had cost Athos to bring Porthos and the rest of them here and have to face his memories of this place in order to save his friend's life. He felt very honored that this intensely private man had let him see his pain.

And all at once he was suddenly glad Valcourt had not stayed. That it was just the two of them here.

"I'm fine, just a little smoke in my eyes," d'Artagnan spoke kindly. "The horses are ready."

Reaching out to assist Athos to his feet, he was forcibly reminded of those times Athos had helped him up after he had knocked him on his rear in training, dusting him off and cuffing him fondly for his error. Athos had never once required his help before. Despite the difficult circumstances d'Artagnan was truly glad to be able to give it.

Despite eying his horse sorely Athos somehow managed to lever himself up to land in the saddle. All at once the abrupt motion turned him a sickly shade of green.

"I don't suppose you ate anything before you started drinking did you?" d'Artagnan winced.

The Lodge was something of a surprise being even smaller than the farm where d'Artagnan had grown up. Given its position in the woods d'Artagnan supposed it must have been used for the estate's Gamekeeper though it had clearly been empty for some time. True to his word Valcourt was waiting for them with a kindly looking woman he supposed was his wife and a young man who looked so like Valcourt he could only be his son.

"My lord, there is a fire in the hearth and candles aplenty," Valcourt spoke with a little bow. "And I have had hot water and food and wine brought up as you requested. There is clean linen and warmed blankets on the bed and if you leave your soiled clothes outside the door my wife will wash your linen. My son has come to stable your horses and clean your tack and the leather of your uniforms. I will stay in case there is anything else you might need."

"You are a good man, Valcourt," d'Artagnan spoke up when he realized Athos was again lost in his own thoughts. "But we are putting you to too much trouble. We will manage well enough. There is no need to stay from your hearth. If your son would kindly tend to the horses, I will see to everything else and you may take your wife home."

"But you are a guest here, Monsieur. It is not seemly." Valcourt worried.

"D'Artagnan is not my guest, Valcourt," Athos was roused to speak. "He is my friend."

D'Artagnan paid little heed as Athos rallied sufficiently to thank Valcourt and his family, giving them a generous amount of coin for their troubles, before sending them on their way. Having passed the horses over to Valcourt's son care he stayed rooted to the spot, even as Athos disappeared inside.

The Musketeer had shown him nothing but kindness since his arrival in Paris. Easily forgiving him for challenging him to a duel without actual cause, giving selflessly of his meagre spare time to train and spar with the young Gascon, being instrumental in bringing him into the most elite circle of the finest of the Musketeers, speaking up for him when he had ran afoul of Monsieur Bonacieux, and keeping a solicitous eye on his general welfare so that d'Artagnan ate well despite his meagre funds and was presently wearing the most serviceable pair of boots he had ever owned. He had swiftly come to see Athos as his best friend.

It was taking a little longer to accept that a man that he so respected and admired could do him the honor of returning the sentiment.

Inside the lodge the two rooms were small but it was warm, and already well lit with candles. There were two comfortable chairs and a small serviceable dining table, already laid with food and drink. Through a doorway d'Artagnan could see a large bed piled high with soft, wool, blankets. Best of all there was a large tub of hot water and a jug and pot of soap standing sentry near the hearth.

To d'Artagnan's stark dismay Athos was ignoring all of these comforts to stare sightlessly out the window. The heavy hand he was resting on the wooden sill suggested that he would soon collapse under the weight of his own memories if some kind of remedy was not taken.

"The water's warm." D'Artagnan spoke lightly hoping to elicit some kind of response.

"You go ahead and take your turn," Athos spoke without moving. Although d'Artagnan still heard the note of command and concern underlying his tone. "And make sure you eat something before you retire."

Deciding to take a leaf out of Athos' own book and lead by example d'Artagnan swiftly stripped out of his pungent clothes, leaving them on a heap on the floor as he stepped into the tub and used handfuls of the soft, lavender scented soap to scrub away the stench of smoke from his skin and hair, before pouring several jugs of water over his head to rinse himself clean.

Using his discarded soiled shirt to dry himself, he pulled out a clean shirt and fresh braies in which to dress himself.

"There now, all done," d'Artagnan tried to encourage. "The bath water's still nice and warm."

"Maybe later." Athos still did not move.

"The water will be cold later and if you insist on returning to Paris stinking like an un-swept chimney the whole world will want to know what happened here." d'Artagnan's tone was pointed.

The Musketeer turned his head and gave him such a venomous look that the Gascon worried he might have actually been too impertinent. But he swiftly realised his words had struck exactly the right note, when Athos finally pushed away from the window and marched across the room, un-tucking his shirt as he went.

D'Artagnan politely turned his back and started piling choice pieces of food on a plate. The sight and smells of the juicy cuts of meat whetted his appetite and he realised it was a long time since his last meal. He had better make sure Athos at least ..

The sudden cry of physical pain was an unexpected as it was disturbing.

Turning around he saw Athos with his arms frozen above his head as he attempted to use the jug to rise off. The rapidly darkening bruises that marred the Musketeers back and chest, and the raw grazes and thin cuts gently oozing blood, told their own story. D'Artagnan would bet his life that Athos had cracked a rib or two and he knew from recent experience exactly how painful that could be, made much worse with all that coughing.

"Let me help."

D'Artagnan rescued the jug, as Athos, very carefully, lowered his arms, and proceeded to rinse the Musketeers back and shoulders for him.

"You are not my servant, d'Artagnan." Athos objected to being cosseted.

"Of course, not, servants make you uncomfortable," d'Artagnan reminded him blandly, as he worked. "I'm just lending a hand."

Athos said nothing more until Athos was clean and dry and the two of them were sitting across from each other at the small table. Faced with some of the some of the most delicious food he had ever tasted d'Artagnan ate hungrily whilst Athos merely stared into his wine glass.

"Why did you come back?" Athos asked suddenly.

D'Artgnon paused, mid bite, considering his response.

"I was worried about you," he admitted finally.

"I told you to get Bonnaire to Paris," Athos reminded him in the same steady tone. "Bonnaire had already proved that he attracts trouble. We still have no idea of the intentions of the two men in black and Porthos is injured."

"Porthos wanted me to come back," d'Artagnan defended his actions. "He never wanted to leave you here alone in the first place."

"And how did you persuade Aramis?" Athos enquired.

As he thought it might, this was the question which caused d'Artagnan to flush guiltily. All too aware of the possible consequences of his answer he looked down at his plate as he mumbled an answer.

"What was that?" Athos wasn't sure he could possibly have heard right.

"I reminded him that I wasn't actually a Musketeer," d'Artagnan said defiantly. "As such I could return as I wished."

"That is true," Athos' voice was dangerously calm. "Yet you gave your word that you would obey my orders, did you not?"

"Technically, I did obey you." d'Artagnan argued, demonstrating that rash courage which both impressed and infuriated Athos by equal turns.

"Technically?"

D'Artagnan visibly gulped at the Musketeer's thunderous expression. He had saved Athos' life. The man called him friend. But he was under no illusion that if he could not make a good case for returning in the face of Athos' obvious intent that he should leave with the others then all hopes of a career as a Musketeer fighting at this man's side might be lost. He fully appreciated that it was only Athos' gratitude for his selflessness in rescuing him from the fire and the affection in which he held him that meant he was not answering these questions at the point of a sword.

"You told me to leave. I left," d'Artagnan spoke up bravely. "You told me to see that Bonaire got to Paris. He will be there by now. You told me not to leave Porthos alone with him and I did not for Aramis is with them both."

His words were met with a long silence. D'Artagnan was painfully aware of his own heart hammering in his chest. Athos was hurting both physically and mentally and he still wasn't completely sober. Aramis and Porthos would have sharp words with him about provoking Athos when he was in such a state.

If he lived to survive this.

"Did you think it though that carefully before you acted?" Athos asked at last.

"Yes," d'Artagnan nodded fervently. "And it took every one of those arguments to convince Aramis not to tie me to my horse and drag me to Paris. You have not been yourself since we came to this place. It did not feel right leaving you without a friend to watch your back. But I swear I would never willingly disobey you."

"I see." Athos drained the rest of his wine and headed towards one of the chairs. "If you are finished eating you should get some sleep, we need to be on the road at first light."

"Athos?" d'Artagnan asked, uncertainly, he had no wish to provoke the Musketeer any further but he needed to know where he stood. "You do know you almost died. If I had not been here .."

The mere thought of it closed his throat and made his chest feel like it might explode. It was only weeks since he had lost his father only to find friendship and a sense of family in the Musketeers. Knowing what he did now he could appreciate that there were days that Athos found it difficult to keep on living. But he was not sure what would become of him if this man was also taken from him.

"It's alright, easy now, it's alright."

Dimly d'Artagnan was aware that Athos' voice was speaking quietly in his ear. The Musketeers arms were wrapped around him, his face was pressed up against his broad shoulder and a large hand was stroking the back of his head. And he was shaking violently. for grief for the beloved father he still had not allowed himself to mourn, for the fear that he might not have returned and Athos been lost to them all, for the sheer terror he had felt when he saw his friend lying motionless on the floor that might not have the strength to save him.

"I thought I had lost you." He managed.

"I know," Athos rested his chin on top of d'Artagnan's bowed head feeling a little more of the ice around his heart crack at the boy's obvious distress at the very idea. If such a good person, could believe in him so absolutely, perhaps he was not yet utterly dammed. "I'm sorry for that"

Earlier Athos had asked himself "Five years learning how to live in a world without her. What do I do now?" Looking down at the young man, who had given so freely of his trust and loyalty, but was so painfully in need of a guiding hand to achieve his remarkable potential, Athos thought he might actually have found his answer.


End file.
